20 December 1899

Well, I guess there's no place better to start than with myself. My name is Astrið Aleksdottur, I've not long since turned 18 years old as I write this. I never really thought about keeping a diary, but a kind lady I met on the boat across the Atlantic suggested it might be a good idea. She even gave me a notebook and some pens, which was very kind of her. A fortunate wrong turn, she was about the only person in 1st class that didn't shout at me for being in the wrong place!

I'm writing this on the train west, over to the new frontiers. It's a been a long journey, but I'm looking for some friends of my father's. My father, Major Alexander Stevenson, served with the British Army. God knows where though, growing up in the Faroe Islands, I never got to see him other than when he was on leave. I know he died fighting alongside Lt. MacLeod, who himself took a major injury. He, along with Capt McKay and Sgt Rivers, were some of my dad's best friends - I met them a few times when they were on leave together.

He always said if anything ever happened to him and Mum, to look them out: they would look after me. That's why I'm making this journey. My mother, Heivør Svensdottur, passed away suddenly after a brief illness. Eiði is a small village, splitting my time between there and Scotland, I'm not really tied down to either place. With my parents passing, there's nothing really left for me in either place...

Well I can see the start of the great lakes, which means we'll be pulling into the port to continue the journey to Saint Denis by boat.